A Season of Eden by Jennifer Laurens Read Free Book Online Page A

to find him alone. Only once or twice other girls were there, hanging out under the guise of ‘being too early.’ When Mr. Christian’s back was turned I’d shot them looks. I saw right through their juvenile operation. It was stupid. They hadn’t been back since.
     
    He was gently rubbing orangey oil into the piano when I arrived one morning. I came to realize that he had three pairs of pants he wore: jeans, brown cords and a pair of khakis. Today he wore khakis with a denim shirt and dark tie. Always, he wore the jacket with the elbow patches.
     
    Classical music played from his portable boombox.
     
    Violins mixed with a piano in a simple, pretty tune.
     
    He only paused from his tender application to glance at me when I came in. For a moment, I was jealous of the piano.
     
    “Morning, Eden.”
     
    His hands moved in such care over the abused surface, I couldn’t take my eyes from them, swirling in slow, loving application.
     
    “Hey.” I set my planner on my chair and stood watching. “She’s looking good.”
     
    “Amazing what a little attention will do.” He continued slow strokes over the sides. “The thing is I can’t understand why Mr. Horseman didn’t take better care of her. I mean, a piece will only perform well if you take care of it. It takes so little.”
     
    “You sound frustrated.”
     
    He stood back, appraising his work. “I am.” Then he looked at me and shrugged, tossing the rag from one hand to the other. “I shouldn’t let it bug me. She’s my responsibility now, and as long as I’m around, she’ll be taken care of.” His palm caressed the side he had just finished oiling. The sight made me tremble inside, wondering what his fingers would feel like against my skin.
     
    He took the rag to the office and disappeared for a moment. I listened to the music and looked at the piano as I heard the piano on the CD play. It was amazing that something so beautiful could come from something so decrepit.
     
    Setting my hands on the gleaming keys, I wished that by just placing my fingers where his touched, I would somehow be able to produce music. Foolish. It took years to be able to play with such expertise.
     
    “So did you start taking piano when you were, like, three?” I asked.
     
    He laughed in the back room and came out wiping his hands back and forth. “No. Almost, but, no. I was seven.”
     
    “Was your mom a piano teacher as well as a voice teacher?”
     
    He nodded, coming over. “They often go hand in hand.”
     
    “So what was it like? Breakfast of champions followed by piano scales and voice lessons, then she’d send you out the door to school?”
     
    He looked entertained by my deduction. “Not quite.
     
    Voices need time to warm up in the morning, as you know. That’s why we go through exercises before we start singing.”
     
    “So it was just the breakfast of champions then?”
     
    His smile remained, settling with something I couldn’t pinpoint as his look at me shifted. What was he was thinking? I drew my lower lip between my teeth and his gaze dropped to my mouth. My body filled with heat. After a heavy blink, he took a step back, accidentally bumping into the piano.
     
    I pretended like he hadn’t noticed my mouth. “So when did your mom teach you? After school?”
     
    One of his hands laid on the top of the piano, the other rested on the belt at his waist. He was trying to look casual, but he looked stiff. “That’s when she taught all of her students. She treated me just like them when it was time to learn.”
     
    “I don’t think I’d like that.”
     
    “She didn’t want me to feel like she was partial.”
     
    “Still, you were her child, you deserved to feel special.”
     
    He studied me. “It wasn’t a matter of not feeling special. I knew she loved me.” For a moment we stared at each other. Then he continued, “She knew that I knew the difference.”
     

     
    An involuntary sigh eased away from me. “Good. I was